Publication date: May 12th 2015
Genres: Thriller, Young Adult
Genres: Thriller, Young Adult
A girl looking to escape her past in New York City ends up on the run from a dangerous conspiracy in this sizzling, high-stakes novel.
When seventeen-year-old Liva came to New York City, all she wanted was to escape the painful memories of her past and finally find a fresh start. Her hopes for a new future were dashed the moment she became the sole witness to a brutal murder. When she’s taken into police custody—supposedly for her own protection—she realizes something isn’t right, but it’s too late. Soon, bullets start flying, and Liva realizes that she is not just a witness, but the target—and she needs to escape before it’s too late.
With the help of a sexy car thief that she met at the station, Liva manages to get away from the massacre unharmed, but now the two of them are alone in New York, trying to outrun and outwit the two killers who will stop at nothing to find them. Liva and Jay are living on the edge, but when you’re on the edge, there’s a long way to fall.
*Teaser* -
The cop shoves the boy into a chair just a few feet away from me. The boy’s jaw works angrily, his eyes dart once around the room, taking me in with a narrowed look of suspicion before the cop barks something at him that gets his attention. It’s only then that I notice the handcuffs. He hunches over, almost as if he’s trying to hide them from me. I stare at him more closely, wondering what he’s been brought in for. Then I remember we’re sitting in the homicide department.
‘Name,’ the cop demands.
‘Jaime Moreno,’ he answers quietly, spelling it out. He says it with a
slight Spanish inflection so it sounds like Hay-may. As the policeman
writes it down, the boy looks over at me briefly and I see something flash in
his eyes – pride or anger, I can’t tell which. Maybe it’s both.
‘You’ve been read your rights,’ the cop says now. ‘You got one phone
call, Moreno. If I were you I’d use it to call your momma and tell her you
ain’t gonna be home for a while.’ He stretches, reaches for a pencil. ‘You
know, you could make this go a whole lot easier if you started talking.’
I watch the boy carefully. His face is turned in profile to me. His
chin is lowered and he glowers at the cop through the shield of his lashes but
doesn’t say a word.
The cop leans back in his seat. ‘Fine by me, if you don’t talk,’ he
says, undoing the top button of his shirt. ‘No sweat off my sack. I’m not the
one who’s facing twenty-five years in a New York State penitentiary. Maybe I
wouldn’t be talking either in your shoes. Those some crazy mofos you messing up
with. Hell, I’d probably be too busy shitting my pants too if I was the one
sitting where you are right now.’ He pushes back from the desk, freeing his
belly, stands up and stretches. ‘I’ll just go and see if a cell’s opened up.’
Once he’s gone, the boy stays sitting there, his shoulders
slightly hunched, his jaw working overtime. His lips are pressed together
tightly and his hands are clenched in his lap as if he’s praying. I almost feel
sorry for him. Then I see the board of open murder cases on the wall in front
of me and my sympathy magically evaporates. I hope if this boy’s guilty they
lock him up and throw away the key.
I sit with my back to the boy, my foot tapping, waiting for Detective
Owens to return. By the clock on the wall it’s nearly five a.m. I’ve been here
three hours, but I’m hoping the detective takes his time as I haven’t yet
thought of anyone I can call, and I’m still wracking my brains when I hear:
‘Pssst.’
I don’t turn around.
‘Pssst. Hey.’
I do a quick scan but the three cops left in the room are all busy and
I can’t catch anyone’s eye.
‘Please.’
I turn fractionally towards the boy behind me who’s trying to get my
attention. ‘What?’ I ask.
His eyes flit across the room before landing back on me. He keeps his
voice low as he bends forwards. ‘I need a favour.’
I raise my eyebrows at him in disbelief. What makes him think I’m
about to do him a favour? He’s a stranger. And he’s wearing handcuffs.
As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking – which admittedly, given the
look I’m fixing him with, wouldn’t be hard to guess – he raises his own
eyebrows right back at me. ‘What happened to innocent till proven guilty?’
I frown at him. He has me there. But still, there’s the fact he’s a
stranger and I have a feeling that whatever kind of favour he’s going to ask me
it’s not going to be legal.
‘You get to walk out of here. I don’t. I’m not going to make bail,’ he
says.
I ponder this for a second. ‘How do you know,’ I finally say,
‘that I’ve not just been charged with a triple homicide?’
His eyes – a bewildering dark green – light up with amusement. He
holds up his bound wrists and then nods at my free hands. ‘And besides,’ he
says, ‘you don’t really fit the profile. You’re wearing a snazzy NYPD sweater.
They don’t usually hand those out to murder suspects.’
I hold his gaze for a few seconds. His eyes burn into mine –
pleading. ‘Listen, all I’m asking is that when you walk out of here you call
someone for me,’ he says.
‘Why on earth would I do that?’ I ask, incredulous.
He considers me for a beat then sits back in his seat. ‘Because you
look like you got heart.’
I stare at him blankly. Heart? What’s that supposed to mean? ‘You get
one call, remember?’ I say.
‘I need that for someone else,’ he mumbles.
‘Too bad,’ I answer with a shrug.
‘Please,’ he begs, and I catch the waver in his voice and realise this
is hard for him to ask. That flare in his eyes – it’s pride, not anger. ‘I
don’t want my mom to worry,’ he says.
That gets my attention. ‘Your mother? You want me to call your
mother?’ I ask, somewhat sceptically.
He looks at me abashed, colour running into his cheeks. ‘I just . . .
I want her to know that I’m OK. And that I’m sorry,’ he adds.
I flinch back in my seat. Sorry? Isn’t that as much an
admission of guilt as waving a bloodied knife in my face? He scowls at me
instantly, seeing my reaction.
‘How do I know that you’re not just getting me to call one of your
friends to pass on some kind of message?’ I ask. ‘I’m not an idiot.’
The scowl vanishes. His expression turns deadly serious. ‘I give you
my word. I just want you to call my mom.’
I study him. He looks genuine. I’d go so far as to say desperate in
fact. But he’s a stranger. And as a rule I don’t break rules. If you discount
climbing on to roofs. Not even for friends. I learned the hard way. I glance
over my shoulder at the far door which Detective Owens disappeared through,
hoping he’ll reappear and give me a get-out clause.
‘If you do this for me,’ the boy says, leaning forwards, his hands
clasped together, ‘I will pay you back.’
‘When?’ I fire back. ‘In twenty-five years?’
He winces and sits up tall in his seat, and I immediately regret my
sarcasm. I take a deep breath. Would it really hurt to do this? But before I
can decide, the boy is out of his seat. He throws a quick glance around the
room and then he’s standing in front of me, pressing something into my hand.
‘Please,’ he says, staring down at me, his expression begging.
I am too startled to do anything but stare up at him.
‘OK,’ I say quietly, kicking myself mentally as soon as the word is
past my lips.
AUTHOR BIO:
Having spent most of her life in London, Sarah quit her job in the non profit sector in 2009 and took off on a round the world trip with her husband and princess-obsessed daughter on a mission to find a new place to call home. After several months in India, Singapore, Australia and the US, they settled in Bali where Sarah now spends her days writing by the pool and trying to machete open coconuts without severing a limb.
She finished her first novel, Hunting Lila (winner of the Kingston Book Award), just before they left the UK, wrote the sequel on the beach in India and had signed a two book deal with Simon & Schuster by the time they had reached Bali.
A third book, Fated, about a teenage demon slayer, was published in January 2012.
The Sound, a thriller romance set in Nantucket, was published in August 2013 and this was followed by the critically acclaimed Out of Control in May 2014.
She also writes New Adult romance for Pan Macmillan (UK) / Simon & Schuster (US) under the pen name Mila Gray.
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